Marked
by Emmalaya
Summary: [D&G] An invisible tattoo is etched and an unthinkable taboo is broken, forever changing the lives of two teenagers and the Wizarding World alike. The world was not written in black and white, but in shades of gray. [!R&R!]
1. I: Among Cowards

**Marked**

_By:_ Emmalaya

**A/N:** For all of you who read _Going Incognito_, this is basically the same plot wrapped up in a different beginning. I suggest you read it, even if you read the first chapter of the first version, because I've changed several things as well as the time and setting. Reviews would be awesome!

And a special thanks to my two reviewers from the old version, **Searching for Inspiration** and **KateMarie**!

**Chapter I: **_Among Cowards_

**Xoxox--Draco Malfoy--xoxoX**

Run.

It was the sole thought screaming through his mind; run. _Run_.

And he did. He bolted across the dew strewn grounds of the castle, slipping on the wet grass, stumbling and swearing as he went. The illuminated form of Hogwarts loomed behind him like an ominous, dreadful shadow; the castle's tower shadows reached for him like giant clawed hands. The Dark Mark glimmered like a ghost overhead, the serpent head swishing back a forth, eyes glinting as if it was alive. Flashes of spells and fire echoed from inside the stone halls, each one rattling his body as if every blast struck him. But he kept running. When he glanced back, he could see the tall, dark silhouettes of Death Eaters swarming, silent as wraths, across the castle grounds and into the Great Hall. He could hear screaming. Yelling. Laughing.

And he ran harder.

His robes were filthy with mud and grass stains. His school uniform had been burned twice and the knees had holes from where he tripped. He was sure that his throat, as raw as it was, would start bleeding any minute now, flushing his dry mouth with the irony taste of his own blood. It hurt to breathe, his lungs felt like they were being ripped apart with every step he took, and his legs were like lead weights. _He must keep running_. Frantically, he stole another glance over his shoulder. Every single fiber in his body tingled with the ice cold fear that one of the black-cloaked demons would spot him.

He let out a ragged sigh of relief—no one. But the warmth of that relief was short-lived.

Up ahead, the Forbidden Forest stood, murky and sinister. He came to a screeching halt in the dead leaves and sucked in a fearful gasp. Beneath him, his weary legs gave out, and he collapsed there at the brink of the tree line. Nettles and briers pricked his palms, rear, and back, but he was long past caring. Mechanically, he rose again, and held his shaking body against the solid form of a tree for balance. For a while he stood there, sucking in deep, gasping breaths; his fingernails dug into the bark. As he fought to regain his breath, his mind kept reminding him that stopping meant death.

They would kill him, he was sure. Both sides now; both the 'dark' and the 'light' would love nothing more than his head served up on a silver platter.

_Ruined_. His life was ruined. And it was all because he failed.

He failed. _Failed—failed—failed_! All of his work, his hard work, had been for nothing. His dreams, his ambitions, and his wishes were nothing more than a figment of his wildest imagination, for he had failed. Fists pounded the tree mercilessly. Failed! How could he have? He had had everything under control! The cabinets, the strategy—he had even dressed Crabbe and Goyle as girls for pity's sake! Alright, maybe his tactics for poisoning the old buffoon didn't prove successful, but he was positive he could have _Avada_'d him! Why didn't he? What was _wrong_ with him?

When he pulled away from the tree, he almost fell down a second time, but caught himself in time.

He couldn't dawdle.

He had to keep moving.

If he wanted to keep up his pathetic excuse of an existence, he couldn't stop now.

The darkness of the forest swallowed him whole. It was an unnatural, unnerving darkness. Even with his pallid skin, he had to squint to see his hand in front of his face. The wand in his pocket could provide him with light, but it would attract unwanted attention from both forest and non-forest dwellers.

Every now and then he could hear the hoot of a wild owl or a rustle in the leaves above. Memories and rumors of what lived in this damnable forest washed over him like a cold wave of water, sending nervous shivers down his spine. But he clenched his hands into fists and ground his teeth together. He wouldn't die here like an animal. He was a Malfoy, and hell if that meant anything to whatever foul satanic spawn lived here, it did mean something to him. He would not die in the dirt, running from the people he once considered family and friends.

_Crunch._

_Crunch._

_Crunch._

With every step he took, he winced. The noise was like thunder in the silence of the forest, but he couldn't afford to stop or slow down, he could still see that damned mark over the thickening canopy. He could _feel_ it burning into his retreating back as if the rays of light were daggers themselves.

He carried on until his legs shook with exertion and exhaustion, and then he pushed harder. Harder, faster, anything to get his arse away. His throat felt like flaming dust; every swallow he took gagged him. No longer could he see the rim of the Hogwarts grounds through the bramble and bush, nor could he see the sky above him. Everything was black, pitch black. And still he stumbled onward, tripping into trees and holes, the horrors of the hours past still fresh in his mind—screams still echoed in his ears; the maniacal laughter and bellowed curses of the Death Eaters still rattled.

'_I am a pathetic excuse for a Malfoy…'_

And it was the truth.

When dawn's first rays of sunlight broke through the thick canopy, he collapsed against a dead tree still erect and standing and crawled inside the cavernous, hollow trunk. Despite the insects' buzzing, biting, stinging and otherwise complaining about the unexpected intrusion, he didn't care and couldn't if he tried. Pulling his legs to his chest, he wrapped his arms around them and buried his head in his knees.

Throughout the entire day he stayed there, huddled in a ball, falling in and out of a light sleep. But by the time the light began to fade, he knew had to get up, move, before darkness fell again.

His legs were stiff and it pained him to walk. His feet were sore, his head heavy, and everything about him was in some sort of agony.

A pattern ensued; he would fall asleep sometime near dawn and awaken just before night set, but the change was so difficult to see because the forest canopy was so thick Draco could never be sure if it was really night or day. Minutes meshed into hours, hours into days. Day after day he walked, stumbling through thickets and bramble, stream and marsh. He stopped when his legs gave out and ate whatever he could find. Now and again a curious creature would wander forth, and he would scare it away or attempt to kill it for food. His stomach was eternally empty and was his one and only talking companion.

He avoided using his wand. The magic put off by its use would alert the Wizarding World that there, indeed, was someone in the woodlands. One thing would lead to another and he would be discovered and, undoubtedly, killed.

One morning (or was it evening?) after a rainstorm, he emerged from his make-shift shelter of leaves and bracken wet and stiff. He stretched, feeling the strained knots in his back snap and crack and turned to move on when the hairs on the back of his neck snapped up. Quick as mercury, the years and years of Death Eater training kicked in and he swung around, wand drawn.

He almost dropped it.

The man before him held himself with a powerful, arrogant aura. His robes were black silk and swiped and nipped at his ankles as a soft breeze floated past, and instead of the hood hanging over his flat, snakelike features, it was patted down over his back. Gleaming, cruel eyes stared out at him with dark amusement. They were like giant, bright garnets against his pasty, greenish face. A smug smirk tugged at the man's lips, twisting and contorting his already mangled features into an expression to shake fear into his bravest enemy. He stood tall, proud, as if he were the most powerful wizard in the world.

And he had every right to be.

He was. Now.

Voldemort smirked. "Well, well, well. Draco Malfoy."

His voice, like silk in sound, made him shiver. Draco stood rooted to the spot. A numbing coldness had frozen his veins and body with terror. His jaw quivered, on the verge of dropping open. His eyes were as wide as dinner plates, and even his irises seemed to drain of color. All possible coherent thoughts vanished, leaving him standing there, stuttering. He was going to die today, he knew it, just by the looking at the spark of devious amusement in the Dark Lord's slitted eyes.

A fight against the Dark Lord was hopeless. Pointless. Suicide.

Draco was silent.

"One wonders what a… affluent boy such as yourself is doing in such a…precarious predicament," The almost nonexistent swish of the Dark Lord's cloak rippled ominously through his mind as the snakelike creature circled him. Once he had reclaimed his reason, he jumped to stay facing the man as he moved, stumbling twice on his unsteady legs. Why was he _so damn slow_? Hours of overexertion and malnourishment had finally taken its toll, he realized miserably.

Unfortunately, the Dark Lord's keen eyes had already taken that into perspective, and with a cruel, taunting grin began snaking this way and that, turning around on his heel at random times to watch the seventeen year old boy skitter and teeter. "Ah, one also wonders why he ran away after his failure to complete his Master's task. Tell me, what is your explanation, boy?"

He wanted to wince at the loose term 'boy' and the pure malevolence laced with every word, but by now the impassive mask drilled into his psyche had taken its place over his features. The shivers had been camouflaged, his back had straightened proudly, and his face was a façade of no emotion. He was silent. Voldemort grimaced, the sketchy lines of wrinkles lighting up around his flattened nose and cheeks. His nostrils flared.

"Answer me, boy."

Silence.

"I said, **'answer me'**."

Still no response. The Dark Lord had stopped pacing circles, and the two looked intently at one another. Lord Voldemort waited a few more minutes for an answer, but all he got was the catcall of a mockingbird somewhere in the distance.

"Ignorant boy," He hissed, raising his wand, "if you refuse to cooperate with me I will force you to—_Stupify_!"

The second the Dark Lord had raised his wand, Draco immediately tensed in preparation for dodging or blocking. He dove down, raking his knees against a hard root and rolled to the side, just in time to see the lightning bolt of red sizzle out in the dirt beside him. _Shit!_ His mind reeled as his body recoiled from the rough tumble-landing, and he bit down hard on his lip to stop a gasp of pain from his sore limbs. The Dark Lord's growl of irritation grew into another _Stupify_ and he coiled his body like a spring and bounded forward.

This time he felt the vibrations from the spell impact bounce from his ankles and groaned inwardly.

"How long do you think you can keep this up, Draco? I can see you faltering. Such a shame, you were always so promising…But alas, I don't plan on killing you now. Maybe I'll even let you live…"

The bastard's voice cut through his mind like a knife. _Idiot! Idiot! Stupid idiot! Stupid body! Move—move—move! _He urged as he twisted in another direction as yet another Stupify jolted toward him. This time, the stitch in his side caught his breath and he hesitated. It was only a second, but it was enough. The spell hit him squarely in the chest and slammed him back against a tree.

His frozen body toppled forward and soon enough his nose was getting chummy with something that used to resemble a mushroom on the forest floor. He couldn't see anything; there were plants in the way. He could hear the approaching footsteps of the beast of a man he once believed to be his hero and wished he had the time to damn him repeatedly. Something hard—a foot, most likely—kicked him hard in the stomach.

The Dark Lord's voice rang like morbid bells of death somewhere above him. "All bark and no bite, I suppose. You were such a promising boy, Draco, but I suppose you didn't have the stomach to actually bite and draw blood. Shame, you're a clever one, too.

"No," The man's voice trailed off, almost wistfully, "No, I'm not going to kill you, Draco Malfoy. I have a use for you yet. You see, I can smell your cowardice. You will do anything to preserve your own life—and that is what I need. I need you to stay alive."

Then he uttered a foreign spell, and Draco's world bowed to darkness.

**x-------------------------------(0)-------------------------------x**

Later on, although how much later was a mystery, Draco's eyes opened slowly and he sat up groggily. What had happe—_Voldemort!_

His back stiffened, and he blinked furiously to clear his vision. Where was he? Where was the Dark Lord? His head whipped around violently, making it throb. His hair went this way and that, and through his silvery locks he made out this: he was still in the forest, and the Dark Lord was nowhere in sight, and nor any sign of a camp. His speculation that if the Dark Lord wished to, he could easily make a tent invisible to even Mad-Eye Moody's great, swiveling eye, but then, there was the question 'why?'.

In the aware, coherent corner of his thoughts, he doubted the Dark Lord would want to make camp in the middle of the Forbidden Forest (or wherever the hell he was by now) just for the sake of waiting for him to wake up. If anything, he would have gotten one of his minions to do it, or gotten said minion to carry his unconscious body wherever the man/snake pleased.

Realizing he was alone, he staggered to his feet and moaned, clutching his head. His knees buckled. Oh, sweet Merlin, it hurt! It felt like someone had taken a dozen knives and stuck them painstakingly into his head and then poured salt onto the open wounds. Threading through his hair, he dropped to his knees and massaged it, vainly hoping that it would quell the ache.

It didn't.

How long he sat there he wasn't sure, he could barely think with the constant throbbing. But once he could open his eyes without seeing stars and colorful dots dancing, he tried to stand again, this time slower. He tried walking; each step was like another knife, but it was bearable. And so, he staggered forward, blindly, hoping to get anywhere but to the Dark Lord. He tried hard not to think, for it sent his head off its rocker with pain and it wasn't nearly as hard as it seemed.

Before he knew it, his pace was steady and all was going—oh, wait, his feet were wet. Cold. His mind registered that he must be standing in water, moving water. A stream, or perhaps a river.

If he followed it, he would find civilization. But before he could blink to take in the stream, the ground beneath him disappeared into thin air and he was falling, falling, falling…

Cold water swirled and coiled around his body like a million serpents. The water hissed and roared in his ears and rushed up his nose and mouth. Every time his mouth opened another mouthful of water came swarming in instead of air, fogging his already dim mind. He flailed around, spashing, trying to grab something to hold onto, but all his fingers caught was water, and it slipped through his fingers like air. He kicked—he couldn't touch the bottom! He thrashed weakly with his legs and grappled with the surface break, but it was already pulling him down underneath the waves. The river, fueled by the recent rains, thundered onward, sucking Draco underneath and inside.

Now numb with cold and lack of oxygen, he tilted his head to the light of the breaking waves above him, locating the faint orb that was the sun. It was noon.

* * *

**A/N:** And there you have it, chapter one! Chapter two should be up sometime soon! Look for updates! 

Review! Or I shall send my army of evil squirrels of **DOOM** to murder you in your sleep! ''


	2. II: Thunder Strike

**Chapter II:** Thunder Strike

**Xoxox—Ginevra Molly Weasley—xoxoX**

"Oi! Ginny! Come look at this!"

Ginny Weasley turned around, but didn't immediately respond to her brother's call. Instead, she lounged back against the rock and kicked her feet to the surface of the water lazily. Her red hair floated atop the ripples, forming a halo around her face. Taking a deep breath, she dipped underneath the water to wash the sun's heat from her face.

"What do you want, George?" she asked irritably upon resurfacing. Honestly, those two always knew the _best_ times to ask for her attention— when she was just getting relaxed. Fred and George stood in the shallows. While Fred prodded something in his hand with his wand, George waved enthusiastically. "Come on! Come look at this!" he exclaimed, pointing to the object in Fred's hand.

Ginny frowned and gave the two an annoyed look, but swam across the pool all the same. Located near the Burrow, the pool was a favorite place for the Weasley children to spend warm summer afternoons-- swimming, of course, and occasionally fishing as well. The stream that fed into it meandered along through the field and forest on the property, all the way from its origin in a larger river upstream. For a stream, it was a decent-sized one, and for as long as she could remember it had never gone dry—not even during the periodic summer draughts. The pool was a deep, bowl-shaped section in the stream that had, over time, eroded away the banks to form a rather large pond.

Rivulets of water trailed down Ginny's body as she came up from the so-named 'deep end'. She made a show of ringing out her hair, splashing the twins on purpose. They howled indignantly; she smirked and winked. Then Fred thrust his palm up to her nose. "_Look_!"

She did. And frowned.

It was a pastry. But of course, with Fred and George you could never tell what it really might be. She wrinkled her nose.

"Why do you have a pastry all the way out here?" she inquired warily, craning her head to look at it more closely. The twins chuckled. That was never a good sign. "Ah, dearest sister, it is not simply a pastry," George replied knowingly, stroking his chin in a scholarly fashion.

Ginny snorted, "Well, of course I know that much. Whenever you want me to see something it's usually not something _normal_. And more than half the time it has something to do with torturing Percy or Ron. So, what is it?"

Fred tossed the sweet up into the air and caught it nimbly, and then chucked it over his shoulder. It landed with a very _un_baked '_kerplunk_' and sank immediately to the bottom. George retrieved it, and shook some of the water off. "It's really a rock."

"We used a glamour spell on it to make it look like a pastry," Fred piped.

Ginny frowned, and crossed her arms over her stomach loosely. She wiped away the water dripping from her bangs and fixed her brothers with a disapproving stare that soon dissipated into giggles. "That's not very good compared to what you usually come up with."

They just shrugged and linked arms, grinning broadly. "What can we say? It's an off day," Fred replied dismissively. George nodded and the twins began skipping (rather awkwardly) down the bank.

"We're going to go see if Ronald will eat this."

"Pffff—'_Ronald'_."

"I know, right? What was Mum thinking…? Hey, did you know that Ronald is a clown in some Muggle eating facility?"

"Indeed I did, George. And I can say truthfully that I will never go near a clown again…_Oh Ronnykins_!"

Ginny laughed lightly at their retreating backs. It was nice that the two could come and visit for the summer; she missed having them around. She found it thrilling that they could be so lighthearted and cheery even now, in times like this. After Dumbledore's death, the whole Weasley clan had fallen somber-- her especially after the breakup with Harry. She sighed, and fell back into the water again, draping a hand over her forehead. Harry and Hermione had come to visit too, and right now they were upstream fishing with Ron.

She snorted, imagining the scene about to unfold. Half of her wanted to go watch, but she decided against it. Instead, she'd just stay here and wait for the others to return. _It won't be that great_, she told herself, _and besides, you should probably swim a few times around. How long has it been since you actually exercised_? Flipping over in the water, she paddled back to the rock in the middle and then sank down into the depths against it, blowing bubbles out of her submerged nose. Who was she kidding? She still wasn't over Harry.

It was childish and stupid, she knew, but that only made her even madder. Mad at whom? Herself. Harry. Voldemort. Honestly, it was all the dumb snakeface's fault she couldn't _be_ with Harry, but blaming him simply didn't have the same effect as when she blamed the Boy-Who-Lived. Did he think she was too weak, too scared, too fragile to fight and stand her ground against Death Eaters? Well, she would find a way to show him how strong she really was and prove that Voldemort couldn't keep them apart. She picked at a strand of hair. Ron and Hermione both had the same chances of getting caught and used as bait as she did; who was he to judge her strength?

_Only your ex-boyfriend and childhood crush_, she reminded herself.

The dull rumble of thunder in the distance brought her back from her reverie with a jump and her honey-colored eyes swerved instinctively to the sky. A storm was forming up north; the great grey clouds were already bulging forth. _Better get out and get dry now…_

She did, climbing up onto the shallow bank. She grabbed her towel and rubbed it through her hair and over her bathing suit—a faded green bikini—before taking the well-worn path to the fishing spot, dodging overgrown thistles and branches as she went.

As much as she'd like to deny it, most of her thinking during the summer had revolved around Harry: Would he be okay? Would he die? Would he still love her, or would his affection simply vanish as a schoolboy crush? _Would he even be the same Harry after all of this is over? _Many of the books-- the novels-- she'd ever read depicted the hero as being changed after the climax, but the books always ended before any real proof arose. It filled her heart with uneasiness, and her throat caught. Stiffly, she swallowed the cry, telling herself again that she was stronger than this.

But anymore thoughts of the Boy-Who-Lived quickly vanished in a flurry of red and fishing poles as the twins thundered down the path, cackling and hooting like mad. Fred had a bit of wire caught in his hair, George had two hooks snatched up in his shorts, and both had impeccable giddiness written all over their faces. "Get out of the way, Ginny!" one of them bellowed.

"Wha—" she was cut off as they came speeding past, one of them sweeping her up and over his shoulder roughly in the process. "FRED!" she screeched, in between bumps, "P-u-u-t me-e-e d-d-dow-n-n!"

"_Leave no man behind_!" was all the response she got.

They thundered downstream, strangled angry yells undoubtedly coming from poor Ron echoing behind them. But then, another sound halted the two boys and Ron, whom Ginny could hear skid to a halt, right into a tree. It was Hermione's shriek.

Fred abruptly dropped Ginny and took off after his twin, and after a moment of disorientation (and a minor headache) Ginny headed after them. It wasn't long before she rounded a grove of bushes and found Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George. Hermione was pointing to a dark shape out in the water with wide eyes. A deep rumble of thunder directly overhead called Ginny's attention to the fact that it had begun raining, although it was still dry under the cover of the trees.

Hermione's shoulders were soaked and drops of rainwater slithered down her bare arms. Her normally bushy hair was matted to her face and neck, and Harry wasn't faring much better.

Ron was at the brunette witch's side, craning his head out over the water. "What is it? What is it, Hermione?"

"A—A body!" the girl sputtered, and backed up. Ron's face paled, and his gaze switched to Harry, who stood with an unreadable expression written on his face. Fred and George's grins faded, and Ginny ran out into the rain to her brother.

A body? She tried to see who it was, but the rain made it difficult to see anything more than a dark solid shape in the water. Brushing her damp hair away from her face, she tip-toed closer, across the pebbles, craning her head forward over the bank. Wait—what if the person was alive?

Someone-- Fred or George-- asked the question before she'd even opened her mouth. "What if they're alive?"

Thunder roared overhead, and a bolt of lightning cracked, sparking across the gray sky like a whip. Raindrops pelted her skin; her towel clung to her shoulders. She shivered despite the warm weather. This couldn't end well. It seemed like an eternity before someone answered.

It was Harry. "Then we have to go get them." His voice was soft—anxious?

"In the rain? This is a thunderstorm, Harry! It's not safe!" Hermione's voice had a nervous squeak. "And besides, Harry, you're not a good swimmer!"

"Don't you think I know that?" the dark-haired boy snapped, and Hermione winced. Ron flared.

"Merlin's Beard, Harry, don't snap at Hermione just because you can't swim!"

Harry blanched, and a tense silence ensued until another crackle of lightning brought the twins to life. Their normal giddy tone was gone, and had Ginny not known it was them speaking, she would have never guessed. "We're going to go get Mum and Dad. You four stay here and keep an eye on whoever that is out there."

But the water was already rising, the current quickening dangerously even though the fishing and swimming holes were normally calm and still. The summer had been dry, and now, with the sudden rush of water, the banks were swelling overboard. Ginny was soaked to the core now, cold rain giving her goose bumps and making her tremble. In the quiet, she racked her brain—the Burrow was at least a half-mile away; the person would float away before Mum and Dad could arrive. The rain made it impossible to perform any spells at this distance; the only way the person would have a chance was if one of them were to swim out there.

That was it! The hot buzz of excitement bubbled through her veins, and with a grin pulling at the corners of her mouth, Ginny darted forward, dropping her towel onto the pebbles. The water, which had been so refreshing moments ago, was icy cold around her ankles… knees… thighs…

"Ginny! What are you doing?"

"Don't go out there!"

"Ginny, no!"

Yells of protest were soon drowned out by the constant _tunk-tunk_ of rain hitting the water and the dull roar of the river. She had only taken one more step, and the water jumped from her thighs to her waist; she bit her lip, pausing uncertainly. She could feel the current pull and tug at her legs; she could feel the icy water numbing her toes.

_You did it again, Gin, leaped before you looked._

But then, a dark shape came into the corner of her restricted view, and her heart skittered. There! The body! It was a meager five feet away from where she was standing and was slowly being tugged downstream as the water swelled.

_It's now or never, and I'm already out here…Go!_

She dove in. The water was just as icy around the rest of her body—if not more so—and by the time she came up for her first breath. With another breath's worth of air she could reach out and grasp the hem of the person's robe. She kicked forward, and wrapped her arm in theirs, and then eagerly whipped around, searching for any sign of the bank—she found none.

_Hell and damnation!_

To make matters worse, she didn't just feel the current tugging at her legs, she could feel herself moving. She had to kick furiously to keep herself from being dragged underneath.

Lightning flashed somewhere behind her on land, and with a _boom!_ she felt her hair prickle with static. A cold wave of panic flitted through her chest—she had to move! The lightning was too close; if it struck the water…

"Ginny!"

The voice was faint, very faint, and she couldn't tell if it was Harry's or one of her brothers' voices. Firming her grip on the heavy burden locked under her arm, she kicked and pulled, gasping once as she realized just how heavy the body beside her was. She whirled around, wet hair slapping her cheeks. Doubled over, the person had somehow assumed a crude sort of Dead Man's Float with his (it was a he, she decided) back arched over and his arms and legs dangling under the water.

The man, unfortunately, was at least a foot taller than Ginny and weighed about twice as much as she. _Sweet Merlin! Why couldn't you be a little thing like PERCY?! It would be ever so much easier to **rescue your ass**!_

Her humor in the situation died as quickly as it had come when a particularly nasty rush of water came up and Ginny felt her legs finally give way. She fumbled at the surface with her free hand, but her legs were numb and tired; still gasping for a breath, Ginny went under.

Clinging to the man's arm as hard and tightly as she could, Ginny grappled for rational thought. They were a tumbling mass of legs and arms and heads and middles, and every time Ginny pulled for the surface to gather a breath of fresh air, the water jerked her back down. Despite her best efforts she was loosing consciousness fast. Her chest burned and ached from lack of oxygen, her knees and elbows were scraped and bleeding after being hurdled at submerged rocks, and her fingers were slipping from the man's smooth, sodden robe.

And then, it stopped.

They stopped moving, and Ginny could hear the water slapping against a beach. With her remaining strength, she pulled herself up on her arms and took in a deep, gasping breath, coughing and sputtering up mouthfuls of water. Blearily, she looked around her. The rain had stopped, the storm passed over; she could see the storm clouds disappearing over the horizon. They had washed up onto a small pebble beach in an area with which she wasn't familiar.

Carefully, she flipped over and sat on her rear, turning to tend to her unconscious companion. He lay face up, and when she leaned over and pulled her hair from her face she gasped audibly and jumped back. The peaceful, pasty face of Draco Malfoy lay tilted with his cheek in the pebbly sand, a healing cut the only mark on his otherwise flawless face. His eyes were closed, his hair dreadfully disheveled. His robes were torn and tattered at the ends as though he'd been running through brier and thorn, and the green and silver striped tie marking him as Slytherin hung halfway out of his robes.

_He hasn't been out of his school uniform…that means he's been in those robes for the past week… _Ginny inhaled slowly. What was Draco Malfoy doing in the river?

She bit her lip, and gently pressed her finger to his neck. His skin was cold and clammy; his pallid skin had taken an unhealthy bluish tint. Ginny winced—she couldn't believe she was actually hoping he was alive.

No pulse.

Wait—the water. Did he have his wand? She didn't have hers.

She ran her hands over his pockets with a feather-light touch, and nearly yipped when they closed around the solid wooden frame of his wand.

She hesitated. Should she help him? It was, after all, Draco Malfoy: the self-proclaimed Death Eater, the boy who had teased her and her brothers for as long as she could remember. He didn't deserve her help, after all the trouble he and his side had caused; but the feel of his clammy, cool skin burned heatedly in her mind. Ginny shivered and swallowed. She'd always feared drowning, thinking it was a horrible way to die—feeling your own limbs go limp and gulping and gulping for air but only drinking in more water…watching everything go from beautiful blue to numb black.

Even if it was Malfoy, she didn't think letting anyone die like that was fair, and besides, maybe her save-the-person plan wouldn't be a complete waste of time anyhow. Malfoy should have some sort of reward on his head by now.

With her fingers, she pried his mouth open. She pointed Malfoy's wand at his chest and murmured a spell under her breath, and a trickle of water floated out of his mouth. She continued until she was sure all of the water was out of his lungs and chest.

Then, she waited.

To her surprise, and relief, Malfoy's chest gave a shudder and he coughed. For the first few minutes he hacked and coughed and sputtered, eyes squinted shut, but eventually the breaths evened out into a pattern Ginny dubbed normal enough.

_And now…_ Ginny chewed her lip uncertainly and fingered the hem of her bathing suit…_ and now I suppose I should try and think of a way to get home. I wonder how far downriver we are…_


	3. III: Opposites

**A/N:** Well, here's Ch.3--_FINALLY_. I'm sorry to say that it's a bit on the short side--but the next chapter should be longer. Thanks to my revieweres and to my lovely beta--**Jen**!!

* * *

**Chapter III:** Opposites

**Xoxox—Ginevra Molly Weasley—xoxoX**

Ginny yawned and reclined against the pebble bank. Malfoy was still sprawled out in the middle of the beach (she hadn't thought it necessary to move him). It was night now; the evening had faded all too quickly, despite her attempts at figuring out what to do. Her stomach was clenched in a bundle of nerves as she sifted handfuls of pebbles through her fingers, staring bleakly up at the star-scattered sky through a break in the tree line.

She must have fallen asleep there, on the bank, because the next thing she knew, there was a wand pointed at her temple and a pair of stony irises glaring down at her.

Ginny recoiled.

"WEASLEY!" Draco Malfoy bellowed—his voice cracking. His hair, which had been askew before, was had been nothing to what it looked like now: a giant spider with hundreds of spastic legs. She choked back a giggle. He did looked deranged with his dirty face and scratched up clothes—but although his appearance were beside the point. The _point_ was prodding her roughly in the forehead.

"Weasley!" he bellowed again.

Ginny shied away from the imposing wand tip—had she really forgotten to pocket that thing?!—and frowned. _He_ was supposed to be _her_ hostage. _He_ was supposed to get _her_ a reward and recognition. Not the other way around. The ruddy **bastard**.

"WEALSLEY!" the Ferret snarled, for the third time.

Ginny glared, and as she finally regained her composure, she slid her hand over her face and moaned. _Oh, Merlin._

"What, Malfoy?"

This seemed to flabbergast him—he certainly looked it. The young man's brow furrowed, and he pulled back, giving her the most confused and irritated expression only plausible by Malfoys. Ginny bit her lip.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Weasley?! I wake up on a fucking beach and you ask—you know what? Forget it. Just don't move, and tell me where the _fuck_ we are."

_Jeez, could this guy be any more of a prick?_ She snorted, and shifted enough to sit upright. Ginny wrapped her arms around herself, and took a deep breath.

"Well, Malfoy, it seems I saved you from drowning, and, therefore, saved your life—not that I would have gone through with it if I'd known it was _you_," she ended stiffly, jerking her chin out defiantly. The pale blond boy in front of her wasn't fazed. He shifted on his feet, as if pondering, and then snapped back to attention and flicked his wand threateningly at her head.

"I wouldn't have expected you to, Weasley. It'll take me weeks to get your greasy fingerprints off of my robes," he sneered. "But while you're down there, you'd best get me out of this bloody forest."

Her eyes narrowed, the Weasley temper finally flushing forth. "And what makes you think I'd do that?"

She watched as his eyes trailed to his wand as and a sneer formed on his mouth. "If you don't, I'll kill you."

_Is he telling the truth?_ Ginny thought, biting her lip. _Would he actually kill me? He didn't kill Dumbledore; Harry said he didn't have the guts, but does that mean he won't kill me? It's not like I'm all that important or powerful. Or strong. Maybe I can…outsmart him? That's unlikely. I heard he's top in his class—take away Hermione and that one Ravenclaw girl—and on top of that, he's had another year's worth of school._ Ginny swallowed._ I'll just have to do what he wants me to…for now._

As Ginny pondered, Draco's patience withered. "Well?" he cracked irritably.

Bowing her head submissively, Ginny sighed.

"All right… I'll get you out. But that's it; I'm not doing anything else for you, you piece of dragon dung.," she added as an afterthought, assuming his mind would take an automatic, complete submission as some sort of plot or crafty plan. Through her the bangs cascading over her eyes, she saw him smirk in an almost deranged fashion and step back. She stood, slowly, with her arms still wrapped around her middle. With only her faded bikini on, she felt rather vulnerable. And cold. Definitely cold.

Malfoy lowered his wand, but didn't release it, and out of the corner of her eyes she saw his head swivel to take in the surrounding forest.

"Good. Now, where are we?"

"Downstream.," she mumbled.

He growled. "That much is fucking obvious. Downstream of _what_, dare I ask?"

"The Burr—My house."

The ragged young man heaved a heavy sigh and threw up his arms. "Great. Bloody wonderful. All right, Weasley, take me to civilization—not meaning your filthy family of savages—and give me a broom."

She had to bite down on her tongue to keep from exclaiming some of the various insults and retorts that sprung up in her throat.

"Fine. If you give me your robe.," Sshe croaked, with a sore tongue.

"What?"

"I want your robe; I'm bloody cold.," she snapped, and moved her arms away from her stomach momentarily. Malfoy's lip twitched, and he rolled his mercury eyes, but he slid out of his damp robe and tossed it to the ground at her feet anyway.

"_Fine_. Take the damn thing. Let's just go."

**x-------------------------------(0)-------------------------------x**

**Xoxox—Draco Malfoy—xoxoX**

How long had they been walking? It felt like hours. Days, he would have guessed, but only now did he see the pink and purple waves appear through the navy-black sky. It dawn. And they had made no progress. Everything just looked the same—the trees, the river, the stumps and the bushes all looked alike and he knew—knew!—that the damn girl wasn't really leading him back. Or, at least, that was what he assumed.

What else could she be doing? The bint girl was a bloody Weasley, after all, it's only common sense that she try to…dispose of him somehow. He would only do the same, had the situation been the opposite.

Opposite. The word pretty much summed up what the Weasleys were to the Malfoys: they were poor, he was rich; they were…well…disgusting and ill-mannered, while he was proper and prim; they were a red-headed, he was blond, and so on and so on.

Draco's lip twitched into a sneer as he ducked under another branch. The Weasley girl was a few paces ahead, prying her way through another set of thick bramble. She had insisted on his robe (it _had_ been one of his best), and in it she appeared to be even _more_ of a dwarf.

_Note to self: Allow Weasley Ffilth to keep the robe. I will never get the stains out…_

There were sticks and flower buds stuck in her long red mane of hair, as well as red cuts along her ankles and arms from briers. He probably looked the same, as much as he hated to admit it. Well, not so much like there was a giant _bird's nest_ on his head, but he _was_ covered from head to foot in cuts and sore all over.

His arms hurt.

His head hurt.

His legs felt like they were going to fall off.

It even hurt to breathe. Merlin, would he ever be giddier than when he finally got out of this blasted forest? _Don't count on it…_

Subconsciously, he rubbed the back of his neck painstakingly and grimaced.

"Weasley? How far away are we?"

She paused, and looked over her shoulder.

"I don't _know,_ Malfoy," she groaned exasperatedly and he ground his teeth.

"Well, you'd better know. I'm tiring of all this walking fast," he snapped, stepping out from under another overhanging tree limb. He had to puff out his chest and pull a dispassionate expression to hide the painful, creaking ache he felt in his back.

If the Weasley girl planned on respondingto respond, it was cut short. No sooner had than Draco had shut his mouth, than a loud _bang!_ erupted, and the silent forest exploded. Birds flew up and into the air shrieking, the quick stomps and offended 'huffs' of deer and hoofed creatures rumbled, and a tree came hurtling at him.

The Weasley girl screamed, and he let out a yelp of surprise before jerking his legs away from the destruction's path.

In the broken space where the tree had been, a man stood, with wild hair and a maniacal grin plastered onto his rugged, untamed features. In his hand he held a thin, hollow, metal barrel. Smoke dribbled from the mouth of the device and rose into the air, dissipating with the frail morning breeze. A large, wolfish hound appeared through the clearing dust at the man's side, saliva dripping from its canines and dangerously huge pearly whites glowing against its black pelt. The man snickered.

"Well. Look'it what we got 'ere."

* * *

**_REVIEW, MY PRITTIES!!_**


	4. IV: The Constants

**A/N: **_Thanks as always to my lovely beta **Jen**, who keeps me from confusing all you readers. D Don't forget to review?_

**Disclaimer**_:** I don't own Harry Potter**. But my army of moldy albino frogs that foam and foam at the mouth (no relation to albino ferrets, ferrets aren't moldy anyway) is forming and soon... soon... I will STRIKE! -looks behind her-_

_-frogs are laying bellyup-_

_Umm... Maybe later?_

_So... no claim to Harry Potter and all its stuff..._

**NOTICE:  
As you may have noticed in the previous chapter, I now have set up a little voting system on my profile. On there is a list of story plots (many of them D/G) that I am going to do in the future. GO VOTE! You can vote for more than one, but not for the same one twice. The one that gets the most votes I will write next. Send a vote in either through my e-mail or in a review!!**

**Chapter IV: **The Constants

**Draco Malfoy**

He could not believe this. This was all that little red-haired brat's fault. Draco snorted and pulled his lips into a thin, white line as he stumbled across yet another upturned root. Damn things popped up everywhere—what was wrong with this place?

A cool, wet something came into contact with the back of his leg, and, fighting down a disgusted shiver, he reached around to brush it away—only to jerk his hand back with a yelp of surprise and scamper forward in a hurry, almost tripping over another root. That dog! That, that stupid dog! _Ooooh, that's disgusting. Its nose is slimy—dogs don't have slimy noses! _Draco glared at the large black animal trailing behind them, beside the wild man, its slimy nose buried deep in the muddy earth.

His lip curled at the mangy creature.

_Bang!_

A warning gunshot was fired up into the sky, and the wild, hairy, _abominable_ excuse for a Muggle snarled nastily. "Hey! I didn't say you could stop! Keep movin'!"

Draco uttered a string of obscenities under his breath. He straightened his dirt-spattered vest and tilted his head upward, turning his glare to the source of his problems: the petite Weasley shoving past another evergreen tree. This was all her fault. It was her fault that he was now the prisoner of an insane (and insanely smelly) Muggle—Wait.

Honest to Merlin, Draco could have slapped himself.

Muggle!

How could he be so dense? Damn Weasley must be rubbing off on him, or something. He was a wizard, and that smelly, sweaty, _foul_ thing behind him was a Muggle. It was so simple! All he had to do was Petrify the fool and—_bam_!—back to business. The only question then would be whether or not it was worth it to keep the girl with him. A quick, furtive glance around him told him the answer: yes. As hard as it was to admit, Draco knew he had no idea where he was, and he would only get even more lost without her.

At least she had an idea of the area. Or at least living-in-the-bloody-dirt skills.

With a smirk plastered on his face, he reached into his pocket discreetly and pulled out his wand slowly—ever so slowly. Then, within the blink of an eye, he whipped around on his toes and aimed his wand at the—

"Whaa—?" Draco started. Where the hell was that man? He was gone! The place where the wild man and his dog had been just minutes before was empty; only the sounds of chirping birds and little mammals scurrying through the underbrush confronted him.

Then there was something ice cold brushing against his skull and the horrible breath of the wild man in his nose. He couldn't help but wrinkle his nose.

"Ah, boy, don't you point that thing at me. In fact—Scruff, _fetch it_."

Out of nowhere, the large black dog snapped the wand out of Draco's fingertips.

And that was that.

The wild man pulled away and set the gun into its holster, sniffing and wiping his nose.

"Oh, and kids, you can just call me… Mary. Yeah."

Draco could hear the Weasley girl stifling a giggle and glared at her. How _dare_ she.

**x**x**x**

**Ginevra Molly Weasley**

Not long after the incident in which Malfoy had attempted to pull one over on the Mug—_Mary_, a small cabin had appeared through the mesh of trees and brush. Vines swiveled and curled up the leftmost side of the simple structure, and a sturdy, thick-looking door of dark wood stood out against the lighter boards of the walls. The vicinity of the simple building was cleared of foliage, and a healthy, green grass sprouted up. She could swear she could see the beginnings of a garden at the corner of the rear of the house. It looked small--homey even--and sturdy.

At least to her it did.

The Mug—Mary, was very confusing. At first he had appeared a threat, an enemy, meaning to do them harm. He had forced them along and threatened Malfoy with a gun. But then, he'd turned right around and told them his name was Mary (which, of course, would strike up confusion—what hard-core kidnapper would reveal his given name to be one traditionally associated with girls?). And to top that, his residence looked not at all foreboding.

Ginny, who remained in front of the small parade, halted at the big door and glanced over her shoulder as Malfoy, Mary, and the dog shuffled out of the trees.

"S'unlocked," Mary growled, clanking loudly as the many utensils strapped around his body and coat swayed as the man moved over uneven ground.

She tried the doorknob, and indeed, it did swing open. Ginny paused in the doorway. Ignoring Malfoy's disgruntled, scattered comments about her sudden halt, she had a little look.

The room had a warm, humble glow—and for a minute, Ginny forgot that she'd been kidnapped. The snapping fire in the fireplace cast light into the main room, and small wax candles placed in shadowy catacombs lit them up, too. In the far, dark corner to her left, she could see the beginnings of a kitchen counter looming out of the gloom.

There was a large, squishy-looking sitting chair before the fire, deer pelts and other animal furs draped casually across it. A cot reared up against the inside wall, one white, sheetless pillow and a quilt to decorate it. All around the small room there were trophies—racks and mounts and even another rifle hung over the mantle.

A bear skin served as a rug; Ginny leapt back as she realized the once magnificent creature's angry, gaping, snarling mouth was inches away from her toes.

Then Malfoy shoved her forward, and she stumbled into the cabin, dancing to avoid stepping on the bear head.

"Hey!" she squeaked indignantly, pinning the blond with a withering stare reminiscent of her mother's. His expression was purposefully blank as she saw his eyes flicker across the room. Then came the Mu—Mary—and the hound, whom she assumed was dubbed Scruff. The black dog took no heed of the two teenagers--other than to direct a snort in Malfoy's direction--and promptly curled up in front of the fireplace.

"Move aside," Mary growled, and as the wild man shoved past, she could smell wood smoke, tobacco, and pine—from the cluttered grove they'd just passed through.

"Well, now," Mary (it did strike her as odd that their kidnapper had told them his name…) said gruffly, slinging his backpack and belt down onto the cabin floor. "What am I goin' to do with two young lovers wanderin' 'bout my forest?"

Malfoy gagged beside her, and Ginny's jaw unhinged. Lovers? LOVERS?!

_Oh Merlin_. She felt faint.

"Lovers?" Malfoy spat, echoing her thoughts. "I beg you not to even speak the idea! It makes me ill. I can assure you that this… this…" He paused and gestured to her, a sneer written on his face. "Weasley, you are a _girl_, aren't you?"

_Oh, if only I had my wand, you cynical little filthy, rotten, horrible, disgusting, malevolent, wicked brat. I'd show you._… She glared at the youngest Malfoy's smug expression.

"At least I'm human, Malfoy, unlike you and the rest of your Death Eater lot. If I had half a chance, I'd give you such a beating you'd be screaming in your sleep for weeks!" She fumed, clenching and unclenching her fists at her sides. Her brown eyes narrowed to slits, meeting Malfoy's steel plates head-on. He didn't flinch, or move, so neither did she. It was a challenge, unspoken and brazen, and she had too much pride to look away.

Mary seemed unimpressed and scratched his head, yawning hugely.

"Well, that's a bit of a disappointment… I only have one cot, y'see."

If Ginny was correct, this time it wasn't only she who lost her jaw.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no…No," she stammered, flailing her arms about. "I'd rather sleep on the floor than with that foul thing—wait a minute. I thought you'd just kidnapped us, and—and—and now you're offering us places to sleep? I'm confused." Her arms dropped limply to her sides.

Malfoy mumbled something under his breath that sounded a lot like "when are Weasleys not?" but otherwise, the blond boy stayed quiet. Surprising as it was, she had a hunch that he was as curious as she was.

Mary grinned, almost manically. He laughed.

"Ahahaha… Nawh, children. I ain't kidnappin' you. It was pretty damn funny, tho'--you should've seen your faces when I spotted yous out by the river. 'Specially you, son." He pointed at Malfoy, who coughed indignantly. Ginny smirked, but it died on her lips as she opened her mouth to speak.

"Okay, then," she began slowly, "so, you're not kidnapping us or going to hurt us or… anything like that?"

Mary shook his head, dirty black locks slapping his cheeks. Over by the flowing fire, Scruff grumbled in his sleep. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Malfoy's grey ones narrow warily at the mutt before straightening and turning to Mary.

"Then what, pray tell, are you planning to do?" he drawled.

Mary laughed again. She wished he'd stop; it was a rather creepy laugh.

"I'm goin' to eat you!" Mary twittered.

Malfoy squeaked. "You can't be serious!?"

"You can't eat us!" she added.

"You're insane!" Malfoy combated.

Mary erupted in more of that creepy laughter—big and booming this time. So much so that Scruff raised his head and gave an irritable bark.

"AAHAHAHAHAHA! You two are gullible!" he bellowed, and once more Ginny wished she had just let Harry, Ron and Hermione take care of the as-of-then anonymous body floating downstream. This man _was_ insane!

She did, however, snort as Mary, quite breathless after his fit of cackling, slung an arm around Malfoy's shoulders as if they were chums. Malfoy, offended by this, shied his head as far away from Mary as physically possible.

"_Ah_…Oh, no, no, no. I ain't goin' to eat you two. That's called cannibalism and cannibalism is how mad-cow disease came into existence…people eatin' other people's brains and all." He snorted and wiped his nose on his slieeve, pulling away from a very, very disturbed Malfoy.

"That's _disgusting_," the albino ferret snipped. For once, Ginny had to agree, and agreeing with the ferret on something was disturbing enough on its own. Merlin, what had she gotten herself into? Her simple rescue plan had backfired so badly and in so many ways (one being, _she_ was, once more, the one who needed rescuing) She groaned inwardly, rolling her eyes.

_Oh jeez_.

**x**x**x**

**Interlude:**

To Harry, Ron, Hermione and Company

"Ginny!"

"Ginny?"

"GINNY?!"

"Ron, this is _impossible_. Why can't we go back to the Burrow and get your father?" Harry groaned, shoving his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Currently, the Boy-Who-Lived and his friends were scouring the woodlands around the Weasley property for Ron's little sister.

The twins plodded along ahead, both with tall walking sticks they'd picked up in the woods. Their heads were drooping, and like Harry, Ron, and Hermione, they were exhausted, but that didn't stop the two from beating each other occasionally with their sticks.

Hermione shivered and pulled her coat closer to her body.

"Yes, Ron. We've been at this all night. The sun's coming up! Look, we'll stand a better chance of finding Ginny if we go back now. Your mum is probably worried sick and your dad's going to be furious," the bushy-haired witch said exasperatedly, flailing her arms around in irritation.

Unlike Ginny and Draco, the five searchers weren't lost, but that didn't help the depressed mood that fell over them like a blanket.

Ron was faring the worst. His face was ashen, freckles standing out to an extreme extent. His blue eyes swam with worry over his absent sister.

He rounded on his two best friends.

"Guys! We _can't_. We just can't stop looking for her! What if something happened to her? What if she's hurt? It's my _baby sister_, for crying out loud! I don't have time to stop and get Mum and Dad—Look, I bet she's right around this corner—!" He darted forward, pushing past the twins—who shouted irately.

Harry and Hermione moaned; Harry slapped his palm to his forehead.

"_Ron_. We can't keep this up," Hermione persisted, pausing to catch her breath against a tree.

"Yeah," Harry added, "Mate, why don't we go back to the house and get your Mum and Dad, and you and Hermione can stay here in case Ginny comes back," the black-haired wizard pleaded. From up in front, the twins both snorted obnoxiously and twisted their heads around over their shoulders with equally devilish grins.

"_Ooo la la_," George cooed, wiggling his very red eyebrows suggestively.

"What a smashing idea, dear Harry," Fred stroked an imaginary beard thoughtfully, "but have you considered the consequences of your actions?"

"Oh, yes indeed, Harry, have you? Leaving these two alone might not be the brightest idea you've ever had. You can practically see the tension between _those two_."

"What naughty things might we stumble on upon returning?"

"_Ooo la la_!" they chorused. Then Fred pulled a thoughtful face.

"No, not '_ooo la la_.' This is _Ronniekins_ we're talking about. It would be more '_eww ha ha'_ than '_ooo la la_', don't you think?"

Silence. Then the twins looked at each other and erupted into a bellowing fit of laughter. Hermione was a very fine shade of red and Ron… well, Ron looked like a rather skinny and human-shaped tomato.

Harry stamped the ground, short-tempered after a sleepless night.

"Oh, come _on_. George, Fred, come with me. Hermione, you—you just stay here with Ron and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid." The Boy-Who-Lived sighed heavily and rounded on his heel, turning back to the Burrow. The twins followed, only pausing to blow kisses to Ron and Hermione and warn them to be good little kiddies.

**End interlude:**

And away from the Golden Trio and back to the Ferret and the Weaselette

**x**x**x**

"A right loon, that one," Malfoy sneered, looking incredibly out of place on the wild woodsman's cot with fur blankets settled over his legs and a buck's rack mounted on the wall over his head. The blond's fine hair was a net of tangles, and crusted blood from a cut marred his pale, perfect cheek. So appalling was it, that Ginny couldn't help but giggle.

Malfoy snarled.

"What, pray tell, do you find _humorous_, Weasley?"

"You," she countered, her mild mood once more ignited into flames.

Malfoy snorted.

"Whatever," he sneered. She waited for more, braced for his knife of a tongue, but instead, he just wiggled down and twisted on the cot so his back was to her. Of course Malfoy had gotten the cot, and although Mary had insisted they could share, she had opted for the floor. It wasn't so bad. She'd slept on worse.

She blinked. What? No nasty retort? No biting remark? A yawn interrupted her paranoid thoughts, and with a troubled sigh she plopped back against the feather pillow, relief seeping through her exhausted body. But before sleep overcame her, a flood of thoughts and concerns that had been repressed with the action of the past two days came flooding back. She couldn't believe she was here…with Malfoy of all people. How had that happened? Why was he in the river in the first place? Her fingers idly played with the hem of the cloak she was—the cloak! She had almost forgotten.

She still had Malfoy's robe. Curiously, she ran her fingers up and down the fine material, examining it. It was a nice robe (aside from the fact that it dragged when she walked), but she should only expect that; the prat was, after all, a Malfoy. It smelled nice, too, she admitted--like spice and cleanness.

Ginny pulled her arms back behind her head.

Before Mary had retired for the night, leaving them in the den, he'd explained that yes, he would help them, and no, he wasn't planning anything vile. He would give them a place to stay tonight—for which she thought they were both extremely grateful (although Malfoy had of course stayed silent)—and breakfast tomorrow morning, as well as directions to Ottery St. Catchpole.

Amazingly, with her mind still reeling from everything that had recently happened, Ginny Weasley fell asleep in a Muggle's living room with her head tilted just ever so slightly to the side, her nose buried in a Malfoy's robe.

**x**x**x**

She was awakened by a sound.

It wasn't of the animals of the night, or the wind rustling through the leaves, or even a creak of the cabin as the wind terrorized it.

It was something else.

She sat up so sharply, straight-backed and wide-eyed, that the handmade quilts and deer-pelt covers atop her body sank off of her. Ginny stared out into the gloomy room warily. The fire had dimmed to barely a flickering glow—the candles had been extinguished when Mary had departed for bed—casting impossibly long shadows across the room and making everything seem ominous.

For the longest time she sat there, breathing heavily, eyes darting around anxiously, listening desperately for another occurrence of the strange noise. Curiosity and fear stabbed at her, but the only sounds to reach her ears were that of the gentle crackling of the fire in the fireplace, the occasional hoot of an owl, a faint ghostly wail as the wind seeped through cracks in the cabin wall, and finally, the frantic throbbing of her heartbeat as it sluggishly returned to its normal _du-dump_,_ du-dump_.

She stayed like that, rigid and aware, until her heavy eyes pulled for sleep.

Slowly, cautiously, quietly, she slunk back underneath the covers, a frown dotting her face.

_But I could have sworn I heard something…_ she thought stubbornly. She turned on her makeshift sleeping bag to see the rest of the cabin's main room. She could still only see the very faint outline of the kitchen, but the dark doorway and the hall stuck out in the dark, as well as the armchair and the cot where Malfoy was asleep.

Or so she thought.

Without warning, the sound repeated as a pained groan came from the cot.

She froze.

"...N-no…Mas—" the blond boy pleaded, croaking. His voice was faint and void of the coldness that penetrated his conscious one—this voice was higher, more real, more human and afraid. She could barely hear him, and could only make out parts of what he mumbled.

"M-Malfoy…?" she whispered. The hairs on her body sprang up apprehensively, and she wriggled nervously as she bit down on her fear. It was making her uneasy now—this was all just too much. Strange house; strange, weird man who called himself _Mary_; and Malfoy—her family's sworn enemy—all at one time… Who wouldn't be jumping?

No response came from her inquiring squeak.

She tried again.

"Malfoy?"

"…I'll try harder…try…please…this time—I'll—" She listened as his voice morphed, so fast she jumped. The new voice was not Malfoy's—it could never have been, and she silently ruled out the ferret pulling one over on her. "—_Why_?—" This voice was louder, but even now she couldn't make out every word for it rasped and cracked like a radio station fading out. "—_Oh, no, you've had your chance… Why wo… give you another_?"

It was familiar, so familiar; it sent cold chills up and down her spine. Suddenly she was shaking, although she didn't know why, and cold, pure terror froze her body. In vain she curled the blankets around her tightly, jumping again when Malfoy jerked, twisting over so his pale features faced her. His eyes were clenched shut, his face contorted painfully. When he spoke, it looked strained.

The voices clashed, as though both were trying to dominate his mouth. She didn't catch it at first, so frozen was she by the sound of the rasping, dark voice invading Malfoy's tongue.

"Please… Lord… I…try harder… do anything… where are you?—Why-why—_Aha. I gave you powers you could never dream of… you don't know… don't resist me…_out… out… get… how… why? …my head..." And then he opened his mouth in a mute scream and fell silent, falling limp. Beaded sweat glimmered on his forehead. Ginny was left awake, afraid, and resentfully both curious and sympathetic.

Yet the voice breaking through Malfoy's mouth was so terrifyingly familiar, somewhere inside her ached with fear—but there was no name to place to it.

**A/N:**

_A shoutout to my friends Ssa and Smlexi and Smashleigh, whose crack-head story: 'THE Story' makes a show here in this chapter. The ooh-la-la and eww-ha-ha joke comes from there. _

_-bloes kisses-_

_I love you guys!_

_Review... -sends all readers subliminal messages-_


	5. V: The Variables

**A/N:** _Yeah!! I've finally updated! xD Sorry it took so long... I'm lazy. / Anyway, updates should come a bit faster now--school lets out in 7 days as of tomorrow!_

_As always, please review!_

_(Oh, and I'll give y'all a hint-- in the next chapter Fred and George get a hold of Hermione's copy of _Alice in Wonderland_. :O_

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

* * *

**Chapter V: **The Variables

**Draco Malfoy**

Morning for Draco came in the form of a rough shove on the shoulder.

"Git up, boy. Breakfist is ready," Mary growled. Draco opened his eyes groggily and unwound his arms from under the feather pillow. He blinked slowly. The wild man Mary was garbed in flannel pajamas with crisscrossing stripes and an apron, which had quite a few oddly colored stains that made Draco question whether the man was making food or poisons. The man's dark hair was tied back from his face in a straggly ponytail. His eyes glittered in amusement at Draco's half-conscious state, and with a snort of laughter, he turned back into the kitchen.

Familiar smells of food flooded Draco's nostrils; his mouth watered and his stomach groaned painfully. He sat up slowly, rubbing his face. _I haven't eaten in _so_ long_, he realized. _How long?_ Memories of the Forbidden Forest flitted past: sleeping in rotted out trunks and under large leaves, attempting (and failing) to catch a rabbit for food, distrustfully taking a nibble from a strange mushroom-like fungus…

Memories of the Dark Lord.

---

_Quick as mercury, the years and years of Death Eater training kicked in and he swung around, wand drawn._

_He almost dropped it._

_The man before him held himself with a powerful, arrogant aura. His robes were black silk and swiped and nipped at his ankles as a soft breeze floated past, and instead of the hood hanging over his flat, snakelike features, it was patted down over his back. Gleaming, cruel eyes stared out at him with dark amusement. They were like giant, bright garnets against his pasty, greenish face. A smug smirk tugged at the man's lips, twisting and contorting his already mangled features into an expression to shake fear into his bravest enemy. He stood tall, proud, as if he were the most powerful wizard in the world._

_And he had every right to be._

_He was. Now._

_Voldemort smirked. "Well, well, well. Draco Malfoy."_

---

"Hurry up! Ginny here's already eaten her eggs!"

Mary's voice rocked him back to reality, and as his eyes swam back into focus, Draco swallowed. This was the first time since he fled that he'd actually dared to even begin looking back on the trials he'd gone through in the Forest. The disgraceful memories of sleeping in the pungent earth were nothing compared to the cold, terror-induced flames that flared in his bones at the recollection of the Dark Lord hovering over him. Shaking his head thoroughly and reaching back to scratch at an itch on his neck, he swung his legs over the side of the cot and stood, frowning at the wave of dizziness that befell him as he did.

His eyes felt heavy still, like he _hadn't_ had the night's sleep he did.

Passing up his fatigue as an aftereffect of such a strenuous ordeal, he ambled barefoot into the kitchen area, where the strong scents of food were wafting. The Weasley girl was already situated at the roughly-built wood table, her legs swinging back and forth, heels scuffing the floor. A plate of eggs, toast, and what looked like sausages sat on the table in front of her, a glass of milk to her right. She was still wearing his robe, and had to roll back the sleeves so they didn't drop into the food. Draco sneered.

He sank into a chair opposite her, watching as Mary came over and slid a plate and glass down for him, humming some unknown tune.

"So's," Mary said from the stove, "how'd two kids like yerselves git lost in the woods up 'ere? I ain't seen nobody lost in years."

Draco, of course, didn't say anything. He left that for the Weasley girl to do—as she'd seemed quite adept at doing so the night before. Her head jerked up as Mary spoke, as if coming back from a trance. Her eyes were wide and brown, and he noticed that they flicked to him once—only to immediately turn away. She was acting skittish. _What the hell?_ His eyes narrowed.

"Oh. Well, it was an accident. You know, with all the rain lately we got caught in the river and kind of… got washed downstream," she answered lightly.

"Ah. I see. Well, I've got to feed the goats and ol' Bertha, so you two can finish up and come 'round back an' find me when you're through." The wild man then removed his apron and disappeared out the door with a bucket in tow, leaving Draco with Weasley.

They ate in silence. Bored, he let his eyes wander over the plain little kitchen and dining space, pulling sneers and snorts of distaste at the simplicity and filthiness of it all. Weasley fidgeted constantly and gave him curious stares when she thought he wasn't looking, but when he turned to match her gaze, she looked at the table and furrowed her red eyebrows.

Puzzled, he dropped his fork and stood, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well, Weasley. I'm finished. Are you?" he drawled.

She nodded and pushed her chair out, standing as well. "Yeah. I'm ready," she said curtly and walked past him. "I'm going outside to find Mary."

And out the door she went.

He sneered at the closing door.

Draco prided himself on being a very observant person. As such, it was apparent that something was up with the Weasley girl—and it involved him. She kept giving him these suspicious looks—as if he were going to sprout horns. Yesterday she spat and insulted him and he her—as was always the case when Malfoys and Weasleys were forced to share company. Today she was quieter, perhaps meeker, slyer. He had a hunch that she was looking to find something in him, to see something.

It was bad enough he felt as though something physical was hanging from his shoulders, weighing him down. The events over the past week continuously replayed themselves in his head, only adding to his exhaustion and mixing in a feeling of nausea. Regardless, Weasley still perturbed him. What did she want to know?

He frowned as he did up his shoes and exited out the door.

_One thing is certain: the Weasley girl will get nothing from me._

Bertha turned out to be a cow.

A very big cow.

Mary assured him that the beast was actually quite small; Draco thought the man was absolutely barmy. Then Mary had the nerve to ask him if he'd like to _pet_ the giant.

He declined.

The Weasley girl seemed to have no qualms about stroking the cow's long forehead, and stood very calm and content, speaking to the animal softly in baby tones.

Draco huffed and picked the places he put his feet carefully. He'd been through enough already—it would only be the proverbial icing on the cake to find his shoes plastered with dung. A few brightly colored chickens clucked stupidly and strutted by, pecking at corn kernels on the ground. One more adventurous hen ticked her head about in classic birdlike manner and attempted to make a meal of his expensive shoes. Said hen got a dragon-hide shoe to the beak and a rather shrill screech from Draco.

Weasley obviously found that entertaining. She chortled, pointing as she did so, causing him to screw his face up in a glare.

"Shut up, Weasley," he snarled.

She rolled her eyes expressively and he fumed. "It's just a hen, Malfoy. Jeez. I knew you were an aristocrat—but I didn't know you'd be freaked out by a _chicken_!"

He resisted the urge to stamp his foot and replaced it with a huff.

"I said shut up."

"What if I don't want to? What's the big, bad _ferret_ going to do about it? Poop on me? Chew on my fingers?" She laughed.

Draco scowled and bit his next words out. He was beginning to like the quiet, sneaky Weasley better than the normal, annoying one. "If I had my wand I would curse you so hard you wouldn't even be able to breathe without feeling pain. I'd—"

"Oh yes, because you're a damned Death Eater, right? _So bad_. I heard you wimped out on the Astronomy Tower." Her words hit a nerve. At first he froze—the very breath in his throat stopping—an icy burst of numbing shock. Then, like a light switch had flipped, fury engulfed him; a wave of embarrassment flooded his veins and turned them to fire. Completely forgetting about the dung, he stormed over, grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her. She shrieked and her hand clapped to her waist for the wand she didn't carry.

She would have had nary a moment to use a wand if she had one. Bertha, startled by Draco's sudden movements, gave a great bellow and stampeded, thrashing her large head every way and stamping her feet. With another frantic moo, she charged them both. Ginny swore and ran, and he scrambled in mute terror after her. _Stupid animals, stupid animals…! _he chanted

Luck would have it that the long tether that kept Bertha from wandering off was closing in on slack. With a loud twang and a small choking noise, the rumble of the cow's hooves on the ground ceased, and Draco stumbled around peevishly, giving the bovine a death glare.

Bertha leered at them with her large doe eyes.

A slap on the side of his face reminded him of the other pissed woman unfortunately in his company.

"Idiot! _What_ did you do that for?" Weasley hissed.

Draco flared and clenched his fists. A retort formed on his tongue, but was interrupted.

"You kids all right over there?"

Mary appeared from around the corner of the cabin. The buckets he'd exited with were still in his hand and empty again; faintly Draco could hear the _meh-eh-eh_s of content goats. He wrinkled his nose and firmly crossed his arms as the man approached.

"Yes," Weasley answered defensively, "we're fine."

Draco inserted his two Galleons. "We should be going now, however, sir. I'm positive our families are very worried about us." He didn't like this place—didn't like the smell, didn't like all the animal crap, plain out didn't like the ogre of a man who lived here—and the sooner he was away from the Muggle's pitiable abode, the better. While leaving didn't solve his weasel problem, Draco was sure he could manage the girl on his own—especially now that he had real food in his stomach, not mushrooms, leaves, and nutshells.

Mary nodded cheerily, blissfully unaffected by the scorn in Draco's voice. Draco's eyes narrowed as he watched the man drop the bucket and walk back into the cottage, calling for them to follow. He did so, taking the lead and striding in after him, not bothering to see if Weasley followed.

**x**x**x**

"…Malfoy?"

He grunted. They'd been walking in silence since leaving Mary's. After Mary had given them directions (and Draco's wand) they'd immediately set off. The going had been easy so far, only old-growth forests with tall trees and few shrubs, with only the tittering of birds in the trees and the dull crunch of dead leaves beneath their feet invading the would-be silence.

He blinked slowly, staring straight ahead. _What am I going to do after this? Nicking a broom from Weasley and forcing her not to tell a soul until after I'm long gone_ (the idea of getting her not to tell a soul forever was pretty damn much out of the question, stupid Gryffindor nobility and all—he had dismissed this early on) _is thinking rather short-term, and I need a long-term plan. I—_

"Malfoy, do… do you remember what you were dreaming last night?"

He hesitated to answer. When he woke, he hadn't recalled dreaming, but now that she mentioned it, bits and pieces came swirling through his mind's eye. Blackness, all blackness—just the small, dark inside of his own eyelids. A voice, a voice not his own speaking to him…it was… it was… his Lord. His Lord had been talking to him in his dream last night, telling him he was there—where? Always there—but where was he always? Telling him of power, telling him that he would be given no other chance to redeem himself… The voice's words mixed and jumbled in his brain and try as he might he could not recall them all.

He shut down a shudder wriggling to creep down his spine and reinforced his rigid posture. "I did not _dream_ last night, Weasley. And even if I did, I would not be discussing it with the likes of _you_."

She huffed, planted her hands upon her hips, and declared, "Liar."

He rounded on his foot to face her, his arms crossed across his chest and a smug sneer curled into his face. "Oh, really? How are you going to prove this?"

The grin on her face was so eerily menacing that had it not been tempered by the smear of freckles on her cheeks and obnoxious red hair, he could have dismissed her as Slytherin. _That's a scary thought. Ugh._

She mimicked his posture, only slanting on one hip. "Oh, I'll try harder, please!" she cooed mockingly in a whiny voice, clapping her hands to her cheeks. Jumping a little, she snarled and switched to a deeper, dramatic voice, emphasizing random syllables. "Oh, no, you've had your chance! Why would I give you another?—"

More pieces filtered through to his subconscious, and through Weasley's words the full effect of the dream came like a freight train. _How—how does she know my dream? Why? How? Legilimency? How dare she! That whore._ Too quick to stop it, his eyes widened and his stance faltered; she saw and took her chance, dramatically pointing.

"Aha! See? I was right! Now spill."

He growled, advancing threateningly. He towered over her, but now with ammo and arsenal, she did not back away. Instead, she thrust her face as high as it would go, stance sassy and _so_ aggravating, a challenging quirk to her mouth. At his sides his fists clenched and flexed; he would not hit a girl if he could help it—the Bertha episode back at the wild man's place was disgraceful enough—but he was tempted now to hex her to hell and back.

"I," he bit out, "will not talk about such private things with dirt like you. You know nothing, Weasley, _nothing_. Now if you cherish your hide you will shut the hell up and march."

Grey met brown and sparks of anger ignited. Brown narrowed dangerously. "No. You know what, Malfoy? I don't think you're as evil and 'bad' as you want to everyone to think."

"_What?_"

"You heard me, you conceited little spoiled brat. So, what the hell is your damn problem? Why won't you talk about the dream? Why do you insist on being so _difficult_?"

He shook his head in disbelief. _Not as—what? Little brat?! Where is she spewing this from? I can't believe this._

"Why do you care about my dream? Does the word 'Malfoy' mean anything to you, or are you just that stupid?" he retorted savagely, still in a fog from the lunacy of her sudden onslaught on his character. They were practically nose to nose now, and neither seemed willing to draw back first—and thus submit. No answer she spoke immediately. When she did, to his extreme surprise, she stepped back and ducked her face.

Skimming her freckled hands through her hair, she said, "I… I just want to know… I—It… I can't… explain it, I just felt this déjà vu thing when you started talking—" her eyes flitted to his face momentarily, "—in your sleep. You did, you know, talk, and all. I heard it… I… Damn you! Why do you have to be _you_? I mean, if you were anyone other than a Malfoy—!"

With a shrill shriek and a stomp, Weasley stormed off. "Nevermind! I'm—_this is pointless!_"

**x**x**x**

Draco had always been proud of the fact that he had never confided any_thing_ in any_one_. But Weasley's outburst stirred contradictory ideas in him that nipped at his views and everything his father had said: 'Never show emotion. Never let anyone in—they'll betray you. Don't expose your flaws, they only make you weak.' He had believed that so… so purely until this point, until she came along and not only thrust her opinions on him—"_What the hell is your damn problem? Why won't you talk about the dream? Why do you insist on being so _difficult"

It was all very confusing.

Luckily, the Weaslette seemed to have decided against speaking to him, giving him time alone with his conflicting thoughts. Not that pondering helped much in his attempt to explain why Ginny Weasley was wrong and Lucius Malfoy was right, because as much as he desperately wanted to believe his father had the complete right-of-way, the little niggling voice that was Ginny continued to put doubt in his mind.

So they trudged onward through the forest, looming trees casting them into a cool shade constantly. The walk was pleasant enough—now that she had stopped talking—and the next sound to interrupt his inner conflict was the welcoming sound of burbling water.

The river. The blue-brown waters appeared through the forest, and an unanimous aura of relief came over them both.

Then Weasley turned, stopped abruptly, and smirked at him. The feat, surprising on its own coming from a Weasley, stopped him in his tracks. His eyes narrowed. _What's she so smug about?_

"What?" he asked cautiously, watching her inspect her nails. With a grin, she replied in a sing-song voice, "I'm a genius!"

He scoffed. "Uh, _huh_. Well, whatever helps you sleep at night, Weasley."

The girl kept grinning; as he kicked through another pile of dead leaves, she suddenly thrust up her palm in his face, mouthing the word '_Stop_!' He complied, only due to confusion, exhaustion with the entire situation, and mild curiosity. Then she brought her hand to her mouth, a single finger to her lips. "Shhh."

'What?' he mouthed, frowning. With that same obnoxious grin, she pointed her freckled finger out in the direction of the river. Draco's eyes followed the tip of her chipped nail. By the river, in a calm pool of water that was tinted green with algae was a horse-like creature standing in the shallows. Its elegant neck was ducked into the water, dark, wet mane glistening in the river of light pouring in through the gap in the trees the running water had created. Clumps of sea-plants, algae, and mud clung in its white pelt.

"A horse? Here?" he whispered, disbelievingly, brow puckering.

She nodded enthusiastically and began a haughty but slow approach to the horse, chirping coolly, "Yes, Malfoy. Though I doubt _you've_ ever ridden."

He sneered at her back, watching the horse lift its head and blink at the redhead with large dark eyes. There was something there, something in the way the horse looked at her—sly, devious, nefarious, evil even—that put his senses on edge; he doubted if the horse was really a horse at all. Then it whinnied, its pitch perfectly innocent, but he caught the glimmer of razor-sharp teeth and stiffened.

_This is a bad idea. That is not a horse._

"Weasley?"

"Hmm?" Her hand was outstretched, and the creature lifted its head and allowed her to stroke its long snout. Meanwhile, he racked his mind—he knew, knew!—that he had read about a magical creature like this before but _what was it_? What was it?

The horse whinnied softly again and stepped forward so Ginny was at its side and calmly bent down on its front legs. He watched her coo and pat its muzzle once more, then hoist herself onto its back and run her hands through its dark, wet mane.

_Horse creatures… I wish I had paid attention that one year Lupin was teaching about dark creatures. Oh, damn it all! I know it, I know it!_

It was slick and clumpy looking, and obviously so because she grimaced and dropped the long, thick hairs.

_Wait._

Those were not hairs. They were… bulrushes! _Kelpie!_

"…_Kelpies are water demons that can change shape. Their favorites are a horse with bulrushes for a mane and a sea-serpent. They are man-eaters, choosing to trick humans into riding on their backs and then taking them underwater to eat them. A bridle over the head should render the creature submissive__," Professor Lupin had said matter-of-factly, jabbing his wand at the chalkboard drawing of a kelpie. "I would like a twelve inch essay on the history of kelpie encounters by next Monday…"_

His mind recited the memory surprisingly well, seeing as the werewolf Lupin's class was boring enough to sleep through. And most of the time, he did. _Well, damn. Leave it to a Weasley to not only mistake a dangerous creature for a docile ungulate, but to do the one thing said creature wanted her to without any persuasion whatsoever._

"Weasley!" he hissed, clenching his wand. She gave him a sadistically expectant look from the kelpie's back, not yet aware of the danger she was in, even as the water demon began trotting lazily back to the water.

"What is it, Malfoy? Listen, I know you had this ghastly encounter with a Hippogriff a couple years back, but please, it's a horse. Maybe if we can get it acr—"

"That's just it!" he snapped, brandishing his wand. Weasley's eyes widened, then narrowed; the kelpie brayed suddenly, rearing back on its hind limbs. Red hair flailing, Weasley shrieked and clung to its neck. The kelpie's eyes rapidly contorted, loosing their innocent brown coloration. The wide pupils slit into diamonds, irises bleached a sickly yellow. Predatory canines gnashed angrily.

_Holy Merlin's beard!_

He blanched.

The kelpie took the stolen time and whipped around, stomping into the water, taking a screaming Ginny Weasley with it. By now the girl had relinquished the creature's neck and was making a valiant attempt to heave off. She couldn't. Even through the splashes and foaming water he saw the bulrushes, with sick squelchy sounds, wind around her wrists and arms so tightly she could not break the grip.

"MALFOY!" she screeched.

Swearing profoundly, he bellowed the first helpful spell that came to mind: "_Petrificus Totalus!_"

A bolt of light exploded much like a firework as it made sweet contact with the beast's flank. The kelpie went rigid and teetered into the water with one last giant splash. It was easy to pick out the floppier body of Weasley as she toppled in after, her arms still trapped in the weeds. She gasped and sputtered, once again sopping wet, trying in vain to jerk some of her drenched hair away from her face without the use of her arms. Scowling, he waded in and muttered another spell, chopping up the reeds. The pieces that were no longer attached to the frozen kelpie withered and crumbled instantly.

Now free, Weasley wiped her soaking hair from her face and mumbled a thank you, but held her gaze elsewhere. Still wearing a scowl, he grudgingly held a hand for her to take, which she did.

"That possibly tops everything your idiot brother's ever done," he quipped. He dropped her hand and waded out of the water.

"Shut up, Malfoy. I'm tired, hungry, wet _again_, and so sick of this mess. I just want to get home," she groaned, shoes slopping on the pebbled beach. He grunted.

"Yeah, sure, as soon as we get across this damn river," he retorted, eyeing the distance and depth of the water. _Well, I've already used magic twice now; it couldn't hurt to use it a third_. Draco swished his wand and the water facing him halted—frozen, but not ice. The liquid became perfectly still and solid, like a much sturdier variant of the Muggle foodstuff Jell-O. It formed a bridge to the other side, about three feet wide.

"Come on," he drawled, walking tentatively for the first couple steps. Finding it held, he sped up, quickly becoming accustomed to the way ripples quivered stiffly under his feet. It didn't take long to get across now, thanks to his spell casting, but when they did, he was roughly shoved aside as Weasley pushed through. She scampered up the bank and started to squeal and clap.

_Moody twit._

With another tweak of his wand the water returned to normal and rushed gratefully onward while he trailed up behind her. He expected to see the decrepit Weasley home, but instead he found a field. A big, stupid field.

And more trees of course.

He leered at her. "What is so great?"

"I know where we are," she chirped.

"Oh?"

"And you'll be happy to know it's only two miles from the Burrow." With that she whooped and took off, cutting a path through the tall golden grasses. He had no choice but to follow suit or be left behind, for she was admirably quick. _What the hell? I thought she was my hostage!_

**Ginevra Molly Weasley**

Things were certainly looking up. Ginny tumbled up yet another hillside, practically humming with glee—it was so nice to recognize the land again! She darted between two twin trees, brushing her palms against the bark. Out of breath now, she stopped and leaned into one, holding her heaving chest with a smile.

A smile that was soon replaced by a frown as a pale-haired wizard arrived at the hilltop too.

"Weasley, you're supposed to be my hostage," he drawled, frustration and anger swirling in his grey eyes. She sniffed.

"Then you sure are an incompetent kidnapper," she replied maliciously, wiping a few pieces of bark on her robes. _Oh, wait, these aren't mine._ She dropped her hands to her sides. She watched the young man's face twist furiously and he pulled out his wand.

"You're still going to get me a broom, Weasl_ette_. Or, I will kill you," he said, with the same distant, cold tone he'd used earlier when she prodded him about his fitful dreaming. She suppressed a shiver. The voice that had taken hold of Malfoy's tongue chilled her to the bone and sent terrible fragmented pictures to her mind's eye and yet… she could not recall who it belonged to. She knew she had heard it before, somewhere. Maybe curiosity did kill the cat, but she _had_ to know. It was killing her, the familiarity that hung just out of reach. She couldn't explain it—but knowing someone might be haunted by a voice that threatened to send her into the dark world of mysterious nightmares was alluring and comforting.

She said nothing and just gave the ferret a hateful look over her shoulder as she ambled across the final stretch of the golden field. Luckily, Malfoy mimicked her silence, and the rest of their travel finished in thoughtful quiet. The sun glowed up above, and Malfoy's robe dried quickly in the summer heat. By the time they crested the final sloping hill, even her hair had dried off, and it flailed in a red mess in the breeze. Scooping it around her shoulder, she planted a hand on her hips and swiped the other through air.

"There you go, Malfoy. We're here."

Beyond her fingertips was the Burrow, little white dots of chickens pecking and burbling in the yard. She saw him give her a haughty sneer.

"Good. Now fetch me a broom and I'll be on my way," he said frostily. Snorting, she stomped through the grass. _Bloody ferret. He always has to go and ruin my good mood._

The Weasleys' shed was possibly more decrepit than their house. Composed of nothing more than wood planks, nails, and magic, the one-roomed building was filled to the brim (even after being magically enlarged) with everything ranging from trowels to broomsticks inside. Ginny, scowling, stepped carefully over a hole and a broken old '_My First Broomstick_'—passed all the way from Bill to her—to grab one of the tattered broomsticks that hung on the walls while Malfoy waited outside. _Stupid git. Won't even come get his own broom_, she grumbled to herself.

"All right, Malfoy, here's your dumb broom, now you can get out of my sight," she growled, escaping the dark confines of the dreaded Weasley shed. Admittedly, a little part of her stomach fell as she said the words—they were like a closer, solidifying the fact that in mere moments Draco Malfoy would be tearing away from here on one of their old _Comet Two Sixtys_ with the mystery of his terrifyingly stirring dream still secret.

But no snarky remark or drawling sneer reached her ears. Brow furrowing, she searched, peeping around the corner of the shed to the left—nothing—and to the right.

And there he was.

Malfoy was slumped on the ground against the wall of the shed, shoulders rigid, head upturned. His storm-cloud eyes stared up into the baby-blue sky, but saw nothing. His entire body quaked fitfully, chest wrenching painfully. The breath his lungs did manage to take in hissed and rattled in his throat, made audible by his gaping mouth.

She gasped sharply, the broom falling to the dirt with a dull, hollow woody sound.

_What in Merlin's name?_

Ginny dropped to her knees and grabbed the lean boy's shoulders, giving him a deliberate shake.

"Malfoy? Malfoy? Are you all right? Malfoy?" When she got no response, she slapped his cheeks. Nothing happened. Then he gave a tremendous shudder and went completely stiff—not even breathing.

But he beat her to the scream.

It was a terrible, chilling scream.

She stumbled back onto her bum, eyes wide, hands over her ears. It was over as soon as it escaped, and as it died on his tongue, Malfoy's body went limp and his head lolled to the side, facing her with a sightless stare.

Silence.

Then she watched, petrified, as his pupils bled a deep, bright red that seeped and smothered the grey granite of his irises until even his pupils were fogged over with crimson.

_What is this?_ she thought frantically.

Malfoy straightened up and stood, towering over her, red eyes glinting. Her mind went blank._ 'What's going on?' _rebounded and ricocheted back and forth through her mind, echoing loudly.

"Ginevra," he purred. Ginny froze, even her breath caught in her throat. _No one_ called her Ginevra, not even her mother. She wasn't even sure some of her _brothers_ remembered that was her full name.

"What did you call me, Malfoy?" she demanded weakly. Malfoy looked at her with a mixture of distaste and disappointment on his face.

"Why, Ginevra, I'm hurt. You can't even remember your best friend anymore." He smiled, but it was not a pleasant one.

She stammered, "What are you talking about? H-have you completely gone 'round the bend?"

He chuckled darkly and out of nowhere his hand clenched around her neck and heaved her upright. To avoid being strangled she hurried to accommodate, scrambling to her feet lest she feel the pull of gravity under her jaw. No such luck. He continued to lift her slowly after her feet kicked and scraped at air. Gagging, she frantically groped and clawed at his arm and hand, but to no avail. He didn't seem to notice, not even when her fingernails drew blood from their shallow scrapes.

"S-s-stop!" she pleaded, her voice raspy. It caught and stuttered like a cloth caught on barbed wire. "Please, let me down!"

She coughed. In and out she heaved, fighting for the precious little air that would fit through her collapsing throat. Her eyes were streaming with tears and were clouded by red fuzz.

A spasmodic squeeze. She wheezed.

"You'll remember soon enough." The grip slackened slightly, causing her to almost faint as a large breath swelled in her chest. Through tearful eyes she watched the red drain from his eyes. It disappeared, sucked up, and left no trace in the stone of Malfoy's eyes. His hand fell limp and she barely managed to keep her footing. With a sigh of movement, Draco Malfoy crumpled at her feet.

For what felt like an eternity, all she could do was stare. Then, numbly, she tossed the broom back inside the shed and slipped Malfoy's wand from his pocket and levitated him off of the ground. Though she could not explain entirely what possessed her to do so, she strode silently into the Weasley house.

**x**x**x**

Oddly enough, everything was quiet inside. The dishes were washing themselves in the kitchen and Mum's knitting was working on the couch. Crookshanks lounged on the couch back. Not wanting to alert anyone that may've been simply out of sight, she darted up the staircase with Malfoy's unconscious body trailing behind her, and slammed her bedroom door closed upon arrival. She locked it. _Where is everyone?_

Gingerly, she set Malfoy onto her old twin bed and his wand on her nightstand (hers was there was well, just where she had left it) and stepped back.

_What am I doing? What am I doing? I just brought Draco bloody Malfoy into my house._

_But I have… I have to figure this out. It's not because I want to be the heroine _(it even surprised her to admit it)_ but, I—I don't feel like I have to do this to get Harry to see me—I just, I just… this is… something… something that is my business, too, but I can't explain why or how. Hell, I don't know…_

She bit her lip, staring at Malfoy's placid form on her bed. Had the situation been different, it might have been comical—his legs dangling over the edge, but right now all she could think about was how she was going to keep him from running away and how she was going to hide DRACO MALFOY from the entirety of her family—Harry and Hermione included. The room ebbed to and fro as she paced, pondering and pondering.

"Mum! How can you do this? Your daughter is out there and you want to have a cup of tea?! Muuuuu—"

"And my _son_ is out there trying to kill himself by starvation! You get in this house _right now_, Ronald Weasley, or so help me I will throw you in a river myself!"

Mum? She ran to the window and yanked it open, "Mum! Dad! Ron!"

Seven heads—five red, one black, and one brown—froze and looked up.

"GINNY!" Fred and George bellowed, immediately followed by the less synchronized calls of her family. It was a mad rush of red, black and brown blotches into the house.

_Uh-oh. I still have Malfoy's robe on!_ Mouth dropping, she skimmed her fingers over the embroidered _DM_ hysterically.

_The closet!_

She jumped inside and hastily yanked the robe off, grabbed a jacket, and stumbled back out, closed it again, and threw herself out of the room and down the steps. They met her halfway, and a blockade of open arms and squeals of "Ginny!" met her straight on.


	6. VI: Long Night

**A/N:** _Hello, folks! So sorry for the big gap in the updates. As always, a big Thank You for my beta Jen!_

_Also, don't forget to check out my profile and vote for a storrrrrrrrrrry:3_

_Oh, and... REVIEW! It makes me happy._

* * *

**Chapter VI: Long Night**

_**--Ginevra Molly Weasley--**_

"Ginny, are you sure you're all right?" Arthur Weasley's brow crinkled with anxiety. His daughter sat placidly on the worn sofa in the Burrow living room, with her hands lying calmly in her lap. She smiled wanly.

"Yeah, I'm okay, Dad, really. Just tired and hungry."

No sooner had she uttered the word, when Mrs. Weasley came bustling out of the kitchen.

"Ginny, dear? Come in the kitchen and have a bite to eat," Molly insisted, and Ginny needn't be told twice.

While she ate, the Weasley clan—plus Harry and Hermione—gathered close. Fred and George sat on either side of her.

Everyone was quiet, and they all seemed to stare at her; Molly watching eagle-eyed, Arthur leaning on the counter. The sounds of her chewing felt loud enough to shred eardrums. Finally, she just couldn't take anymore.

"What?" she demanded.

"What happened?" George and Fred asked, synchronized. Ginny stuttered for a minute, looking for a valid answer. "I…I—followed the river back up."

Hermione coughed. "But we searched all along the bank."

"I was on the other side," Ginny replied, truthfully. "And there were a lot of places where I couldn't walk right beside the water, you know?"

Various nods and soothing comments met her. The twins each patted her on the back.

"You're sure you're okay? Not hurt, or anything?" Molly eyed her warily, as if expecting her daughter to keel over any second. Ginny nodded.

"Yes, I'm fine, Mum. Just tired… I think I'm going to go take a nap now," she said and stood. She dumped her plate into the sink.

"Of course, dear," her mum soothed, then rounded on the boys. "You hear that? Everyone go outside or be quiet!"

While her family fled out the front door, Ginny retreated back upstairs with the heavy weight of the lies she had told her family on her shoulders. After closing her squeaky door as quietly as she could, she turned, fully expecting Malfoy to still be out cold. She jumped.

Malfoy sat on the edge of her bed, scowling. Anger and confusion were wrought plainly on his face. The dirt smudges on his cheeks and the complete and utter filthiness of every part of him succeeded in making him look demented and possibly dangerous, she decided, and swallowed.

"You're awake," she said simply. Malfoy nodded, which surprised her. She had expected something… a violent reaction, but he just sat there, watching her, waiting for her to do something. Well, _she_ wanted a nap. After the ordeal in the woods, she was so exhausted she couldn't think straight anymore—much less deal with a Slytherin. Yes, a nap would be nice—one on her own bed, with her own pillow. Unfortunately, even that request wouldn't be simple.

She turned around and rifled through her closet, yanking out several blankets. After arranging them onto the floor like a sleeping bag, Ginny, yawning, walked back over to her bed.

"Get up," she instructed.

This time, Malfoy glared—albeit tiredly. "Why?" he sneered, "So you can take me down to my death?"

"No, if I wanted to do that I wouldn't have hidden you in my room. I want you to get up because I want to sleep on my bed." She jabbed a finger in the direction of the blankets. "You can sleep there if you want."

"What if I don't want to sleep?"

"Then you can sit, for all I care."

"I think I'll stand."

"Fine. Whatever. Just go." Narrowing his eyes, he walked with almost his old haughtiness over to the corner and stood, crossing his arms. Ginny swiveled her wand around and uttered a charm. A glossy haze—much like that of a bubble—popped into place, blocking off the corner Malfoy stood in from the remainder of her room. Malfoy scowled and opened his mouth. Sinking onto her bed, Ginny interrupted the annoyed boy. "—S'a a wall. I have your wand. Just be quiet and I'll deal with you later…"

Then she pressed her face into the sun-faded pillow and sighed.

_She, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were on a mission. A mission for the Order._

_Garbed in long black cloaks, they crept down a dark, dingy street, wands aloft. Whenever they reached a door or window, one would take a peek inside to check for Death Eaters, other suspicious activity, or Hermione's lost Book of Great Importance to the Order of the Phoenix._

_So far, they had had no luck._

_By now they had reached the end of the street. Harry, Ron, and Hermione suddenly turned around to face her—she had been last in line—gaping._

"_Ginny! There you are!" Ron hissed. He rushed forward and grabbed her by the shoulders. She blinked and frowned. What? "I—"_

"_I'm so glad we found you!" Hermione breathed, smiling in relief._

"_Yes, what are you doing out here? It's dangerous!" Harry scolded._

"_What? I've been here the entire time! We were—" Harry cut her off._

"_Guys__, we need to get Ginny back to the Headquarters," Harry stated sternly, casting a disapproving look at her. She gaped, completely and utterly speechless._

"_WHAT?!?" Her scream broke the fragile silence around the street, so even the air itself seemed to shudder and crack like glass. "This is—"_

"_You're right, Harry," Ron replied, ignoring his sister. Hermione frowned._

"_Ron, Harry, we can't waste time. We must find the Book of Great Importance to the Order of the Phoenix," the brown-haired girl snipped. Immediately, both boys whirled on her__, pressing their fingers to their lips, promptly 'SHHHHHHH'ing her._

"_Do not speak of it in such company!" Harry hissed, flicking his eyes obviously to Ginny to clarify who exactly was the 'such company'._

"_You never know who might be listening! Hurry!" Ron added._

_Without another word, the trio zipped off._

"_Hey!" Ginny yelled after them. "Hey! You guys! Hermione! …Ron? …Harry?!"_

_Harry stopped and suddenly ran back to her, while Ron and Hermione mechanically halted to wait for him. The green eyes she had adored for so long now bubbled with affection, and as he took her hands in his, her heart swelled._

"_Oh, Gin," he breathed, "I know this is hard for you—but it's for the best…"_

"_But—but…"_

"_I know you'll be there—and… and… you know that means a lot to me."_

_She smiled shakily, warmth spreading from her chest to her fingers and toes._

"_I know you'll wait for me, Gin. I know you'll wait for me forever."_

_Somehow the words weren't as endearing spoken aloud as they'd been the countless time she had made that pledge to him in her mind. Her smile faltered as Harry faded away, the warmth in her digits suddenly frosting over until the cold constricted her very heart with its empty feeling. After they were gone, Ginny continued to walk, this time alone, through the dark and dank streets of some unknown town. No Death Eaters popped out to attack, nothing dangerous presented itself, and there were no Books of Great Importance to anything to be found. _

_Arms were around her. She was with someone—someone that... that was brave—and courageous and noble—but didn't want to admit it for fear of his reputation. He was—handsome—a classical handsome. He—he… he loved her family and they him—while he had no family to speak of. His smile was adorable. And he thought she was beautiful: freckles and all, and he told her so… many, many times._

_And they—they were in lo—…_

_Her silhouetted man faded away._

_She was in a room—no, more like a dungeon. She could hear the sound of water trickling onto soaked stone and smell the scent of stale, moldy air. As she took in the cavernous room, she felt as though she should know where she was—the queer feeling of déjà vu. Even after spotting a great carved head of a bearded man, she came up with a blank._

"_Why did you ruin my diary, Ginevra?"_

_With a sharp gasp, Ginny snapped on her heel—coming face to face with—_

"_Tom," she whispered, her voice suddenly hoarse and fragile. Immediately, memories swung back into place: her first year at Hogwarts, the diary, and the Chamber. She was in the Chamber of Secrets… again. Fear flooded her veins like water from a bursting dam. Tom was You-Know-Who. Tom is You-Know-Who. He was speaking again, but she could not make out the words. Tom was changing right before her eyes—getting older, growing up. The handsome 16-year-old features of Tom Riddle stretched and settled into an even more dashing adult face. His complexion continued to pale, and his cheeks hollowed, his eyes rusted: an odd brown that reminded her of dried blood, and his nose sunk into itself like a weathering mountain sunk back into the earth. The sound of his voice changed too, from the seductive, compelling voice of the young Tom Riddle she knew, to a hoarser—but still as seductive and compelling—more malicious tone._

_Ginny gasped. That—that was it! It was—_

"FRED! GEORGE! Shut UP! I am _trying_ to sleep!"

At the sound of Ron's voice, Ginny jerked awake, panting, her eyes snapping open. Bolting upright, the redhead's eyes drew to the window—dark. She must have been asleep for a few hours now. Again, her eyes drifted, this time to the faint smear of practically iridescent blond hair in the gloom of her room. Malfoy sat against the wall with his elbows and arms draped across his knees and his head on his crossed arms. In the dark she could barely see him. Slowly, she kicked her legs over the side of the bed and with her wand she lit the candle by her bedside, illuminating her room with a golden glow. Malfoy lifted his head and eyed her, the flickering glow of the candlelight casting long, dramatic shadows on his angular face.

"Merlin, you're a bleeding heavy sleeper," he grumbled. "That brother—who was it—Ron—has been at a screaming match against the two doppelgangers for over an hour now."

Ignoring him, she blurted, "I know what's going on."

"Good. Then stop them."

"No, no. I mean—I'm talking about you!" she snapped, exasperated.

In the dark, one of Malfoy's albino-like eyebrows shot up and he looked at her expectantly.

"Tom! It's Tom! He's possessing you!" Why this conclusion excited her so much was beyond Ginny. Perhaps because it meant someone else would go through the same thing that she had years ago?

Malfoy scoffed. "Who the bloody hell is Tom?"

"You-Know-Who," she replied.

"_What_?" He frowned, "You're making no sense whatsoever, Weasley."

Ginny's eyes narrowed. Was he serious? This was Malfoy—a Slytherin, whose father was a Death Eater in Azkaban—how on _earth_ was she supposed to tell if he was lying? She was no Legilimens.

"You're serious?" she snorted.

"Um, _yes_," he replied smartly.

"You're serious," Ginny said again, flatly, to herself as much as to him.

"Yes."

Ginny gaped at him, and then quickly clamped her mouth shut. _I guess… Ron told me that Tom is a half-blood, even though he preaches about blood purity. I suppose he wouldn't tell his minions he was a hypocrite._ She scoffed inwardly. "Tom Riddle was You-Know-Who's real name."

Malfoy seemed to accept that, and only answered with a haughty, "Ah".

Unexpectedly, he added, "Then why, Weasley, did you call him Tom, when he is now known as You-Know-Who?"

She pursed her lips. Of course he wouldn't know exactly what went on in the Chamber of Secrets, would he? Especially not how she felt about it. "Never mind," she replied slowly, "It's not important—but this is. You-Know-Who _is_ possessing you!"

His eyes narrowed. "That's preposterous."

"No, it's not! You mumble in your sleep, and you attacked me outside the broom shed!" she hissed—wanting to yell, but knowing it would be unwise to do so.

"What? I haven't _touched_ you!" he hissed in return, pinning her with a derisive skeptical look. "And I think I would remember an enjoyable experience such as—"

"You don't remember because To—You-Know-Who possessed you!" she whispered, so harshly it hurt her throat. Jumping forward and just inches away from jabbing her wand into the boy's grey eye, she watched him tense and stare up at her with narrowed eyes.

"Where is your proof? How do you…" Suddenly Malfoy trailed off and he shifted uneasily; she saw him swallow and he appeared puzzled. She could swear she saw the glow of his pale eyes flicker on and off, but she cast it off as a trick of the candlelight.

"How do you know this? Why do you care—you're just a—" He stopped and swung around, bracing his hands suddenly on the ground before him. He stared at her floor, silent for a long time, but she didn't notice the small convulsions jerking Malfoy's chest until he gagged and vomited on her floor. Ginny gasped and stepped back as he gave another lurch and puked again, and another time shortly after. After the third time, despite a few painful-looking dry heaves, he stopped. She could see his body quivering in the light.

"Are you all right?" she asked softly, her underlying tone still flat.

Malfoy nodded slowly. Sucking in a breath, she abruptly removed the Shield Charm that trapped Malfoy and grabbed his arm.

"Come on, let's clean you up," she grumbled. _Well, _she thought irately_, this is just grand._ _Can't get a break, can I?_

To her surprise, Malfoy didn't protest, and allowed her to lead him down the steps to the bathroom. When they got there, she dragged him over to the sink and thrust him a washcloth and a spare toothbrush, watching him set about cleaning himself up. No words were spoken; the only sound was the running water.

When he was done, she picked up the cloth and toothbrush so she could put them in the laundry room. Malfoy's eyes wandered over the small bathroom, the faint twinge of a sneer on his face. The impact, however, was undoubtedly ruined when there was a loud, quite obnoxious rumble in the room. Ginny's brows shot up._ If that's what I think it was…_

"Hungry?" she asked, unenthusiastically.

Another glare (indeed they were getting tiresome), but Malfoy nodded stiffly.

Ginny sighed heavily. "Are you sure you can hold something down?" she added skeptically.

"Yes, _yes_. I feel fine," he snapped.

She sniffed. "Well, it's on your own head, I suppose. Come on…"

They trudged down the stairs and onto the bottom floor, which was black with scattered squares of misty blue moonlight. The dishes in the kitchen were lying lifelessly in their cabinets now, even when Ginny came and retrieved a plate, fork, and knife from their confines.

"Get a piece of bread from the box, if you like," she said tiredly, watching out of the corner of her eye to make sure the tall boy didn't do anything otherwise as she herself gathered a platter from the magical icebox conveniently hidden in a small eye-level cabinet. Ginny then set the things down on the counter and dumped a couple of pieces of leftover chicken onto the plate. Malfoy reached out for it, but she slapped his hand away and took up the plate.

"Let's go back up to my room, in case any of my family comes down," she explained.

Ten minutes later found Ginny on her bed, sitting Indian style, palms cupping her cheeks as she watched Malfoy eat. Even though he must have been starving by now, the young aristocrat ate slowly and, well, _sophisticatedly_—much the opposite of what she or any of her brothers would do.

Of course, the charm was back in place, and a liquidy, filmy wall separated them.

_I've got to get rid of him tomorrow, first thing. I can't keep him here—why would I even want to? And I can still get the glory for catching him!_ She smiled to herself. This worked out in my favor after all! Ha! I'll tell Dad in the morning that I caught him snooping around outside last night, he'll call the Order, they'll come and take him off to Azkaban—he's an adult now anyway—and Harry will see that I'm not helpless! At the thought of Harry, something stirred in her mind and a glimmer of the recent dream resurfaced. _'I know you'll wait for me forever.'_ Trying to shake off the feeling, she glanced up again at Malfoy, who had pushed his plate and cup away from him and was now rolling his shoulders idly.

_But he knows. He knows what it's like—even if he's not aware of it—to be possessed by You-Know-Who. Not Imperiused, but possessed. How many other people have been through this? None. The diary was a piece of Tom's soul—I wonder what Malfoy is being tied to him from?_ Ginny chewed her lip thoughtfully. She lay back on her bed, curling up on her side with her back to Malfoy, and tried to sleep, but to no avail. Eventually she sat back up. _I can't sleep, there's just too much whirring in my head and yet I'm still bored…_

_**--Draco Malfoy--**_

Draco rolled his shoulders again. They were sore and stiff from sleeping here on the floor, crouched in an uncomfortable position. Despite the fact Weasley had made him a little 'bed', he refused to lie down upon it. .

Why hadn't she given him over to her parents or her brothers yet? That was the question. In all Gryffindor bravery and righteousness, the girl should have exposed him while he was still out cold. Speaking of which, he had tried over and over to recall why he had been unconscious, but the only recollection he had was standing outside the shed thinking about how idiotic, foolish, and horrible the blood-traitor Weasleys were. After that, there was a blank of inscrutable time and he'd woken up in a small, dusty, cheap room filled with reds and golds and clashing pastels.

Perhaps she had a plan.

Perhaps she already told her family, and was waiting for the time to strike.

Perhaps they were even waiting for the Aurors to arrive.

Why, if she was having Aurors come to take him away, then, would she have allowed him to clean himself after vomiting, or feed him? In both instances, she had even _let him_ out of his little prison in the corner to do it. His eyes narrowed as he glared at the floor. This was very confusing, but there was no doubt in his mind that Weasley had some _noble_ idea in mind. It was figuring out the plan in time to thwart it that was the problem. He ran over all the possibilities that popped into his head, dismissing some and favoring others, but storing them all in memory. A part of him that was kept in the dark recesses of his mind relished the absurd thought that she hadn't exposed him yet because she felt he wasn't evil—he associated that particular idea with exhaustion and the side-effects of being in this hovel for so long.

In the middle of his musings, Weasley's voice carried over to him, inquisitive.

"Hey, Malfoy?" she ventured.

"What?" he replied sullenly.

"Do you want to play chess or something?"

_Well,_ he thought darkly,_ I can lure her into a false sense of security. That will be my first step._


End file.
